A Final Countdown

This time in seven days I'll (presumably) be heading to bed on the night before my first-final exam. Over the following nine days I'll sit a total of six exams ranging from topics as diverse as the Historical Foundations of the British Constitution and the Conflict of Laws, to Equity and Jurisprudence.

Exam term is always an odd term. The current atmosphere at University can be summed up by more apt clichés than I'd usually care for, but "the calm before the storm" works well. Hopefully though, upon putting down my pen for the last time at midday on the 5th June, it'll turn out that it would have been more suitable to speak of "the calm before the storm in a teacup". Wishful thinking? We'll just have to wait and see.

London Calling

This is not the term to be heading backwards and forwards between London and Cambridge, but nonetheless, that's what I seem to be finding myself doing and I spent the weekend just gone in our illustrious capital city. And a busy weekend it was too.

I made the decision on Friday night to get up ridiculously early on the Saturday, to catch the 06:45 train down to London to go to a bakery in Islington for what the Guardian recently said was the 'best breakfast in Britain'. It was part-established by Dan Lepard (the baker whose internet forum led to the bread baking weekend I spent with a group of 15 or so other like-minded people in Bethesda in Wales last summer). So off I trotted through Islington, past estate agents advertising places at an average of around £750,000 to pay just a bit less than that for breakfast. The French cinnamon brioche toast with Greek yoghurt and berry compote was indeed very good, but at £10, I'm not sure whether it was the best value in Britain.

There's much more of that to be had in Borough Market, a place that really proves that the saying 'you can have too much of a good thing' is just plain wrong. I can't pontificate enough about how much I love this place, so I won't even try. But suffice to say, walking around so many tempting things, I was sorely regretting my Islington breakfast. If there's one thing to be said for living in London next year, Borough Market is probably it.

Afterwards I had to visit Westminster to deliver something to Cecily's parents before meeting Lisa for a much too long a delayed catch-up lunch in the coffee place opposite the Royal Courts of Justice. I then spent the next three hours at a talk on postgraduate study in the USA at King's College London before meeting Stef and Stuart for something I'd been looking forward to since my last visit.


Queen's Day! Last year on the same day in Holland the whole country turned Orange and came out for one big street party to celebrate the Dutch Queen Mother's birthday and to my amazement last time I was in London I noticed that the Dutch Tourism Board was putting on an event for the day on the South Bank in London! Cue the chance to get all nostalgic over stroopwafeln and olliebollen, and to have a photo taken wearing 'Dutch' hats. All very good fun, and I even got to speak some Dutch, but alas, despite my supreme effort of enunciation, the addressees of my Dutch words replied in English.

Day two in the city saw another delayed reunion with some friends from back home, who are no longer back home.


Jon had recovered from his epic cycle ride to Cambridge from Norwich last weekend. Jess had just returned from a six-month trip to the other side of the world, and Will now works in London. So we spent the day stomping around London and generally catching-up on our lives. It's always quite fortunate that wherever you seem to end up in London, something worth seeing generally presents itself, and Sunday was no exception. A sedate walk through St. James Park became slightly less so when a parade came by:



Sadly the weather wasn't quite as keen to play along as it was on Saturday, but it was a really fun day nonetheless and it was great to see everyone again over the course of the weekend and to get away from the Cambridge bubble, which, this term at least, seems to be building in internal pressure.

But perhaps more importantly than anything, it provided an opportunity to see presumably the next stage in green car technology.


I guess this one doesn't have to pay the Congestion Charge.

Edit: Dan Lepard has let me know that he wasn't actually involved with the establishment of Ottolenghi (the bakery I visited in Islington), but that instead he helped out with their bread baking after they were established. So I'm more than happy to clarify that.

What was the day that was?

Wednesday of last week was St. George's Day. But you'd never have known it. The flag outside my window was showing about as little enthusiasm for the day as the rest of the country appeared to be feeling.


When I had my interview with the English Speaking Union to spend the summer interning on Capitol Hill in Washington DC, one of the aspects of the questioning was how I'd be an ambassador for the UK. I mentioned that I'd like to portray the best aspects of the country to those I met. Predictably (although I hadn't appreciated that when I gave my previous answer), the next question was what I thought the best thing about Britain was. I fumbled, and never quite found the right words to describe what I wanted to pin down. As soon as I left the room I figure it out; British reserve. Regardless of whether people feel more 'English', 'Scottish', 'British' or even 'Cornish' there's a lot to be proud of in this country, but we don't shout about it. Perhaps we don't feel the need, or perhaps we're embarrassed to do so.

Just compare our 'celebrations' on St. George's Day with the celebrations in America on Independence Day. Of course, modesty should only go so far, and despite thinking that we've got a lot to be proud of in our British reserve, we've got a lot to be proud of in our country to, and we shouldn't be afraid to recognise that - even if for only one day a year.

A long way from home

Today's trendy trend is to 'Go Green!' whereby you're saving the planet through, for instance, counting your food's carbon footprint, or working in darkness. Some people though go even further than this in the name of saving the world.

This weekend, Jon, a good friend of mine from back in Penzance really went one further. Not content with all the usual methods of transport he determined that he'd come to Cambridge, from Norwich, on his bike. Not a motorbike, but a bicycle. 75-odd miles on a bicycle. Again; that's 75-odd miles. On a bicycle. Yes, it's pretty flat, but still, 75-odd miles. Madness.


Granted, I think it was more in the name of saving money than the world, and I'm not sure how many tonnes of carbon-dioxide he saved, nor how many calories he burned off, but whatever the final count, undeniably it was a pretty amazing effort. It took him just over 7 hours to cover the distance. But perhaps most amazing of all was that he could still walk yesterday evening and today.

I've been back at Cambridge for three-weeks now, not that it really feels like it, but most of the time has been spent in the library reading this and that, and understanding this but not that. So it was good to be able to take a complete break from things and have at least part of the weekend off from this studying lark.

After a well-deserved, and personally much-missed, Cornish pasty on Saturday for lunch we spent the rest of the day wondering around Cambridge before coming back to cook dinner and spending the evening playing pool and indulging in a bit of Nintendo Wii action. I learned the hard way that it's quite depressing to be beaten, at midnight, at Wii Tennis, by someone who got up at 6am and cycled 75 miles earlier in the same day. Today saw a further wander as a build up to the (in)famous Selwyn brunch, some real-life bowling (where needless to say, I was again beaten), before Jon took the train back to Norwich. No more cycling today.

It's odd how it's tempting to divide friends into 'Uni-Friends' and 'Home-Friends', as after all, aren't they essentially the same? Supposedly the friends we make at University are the friends we'll have for the rest of our lives, and I certainly don't doubt that. When you're living around people for three years you really do get to know people on a different level to the way you knew people in school. Jon on the other hand is certainly a home friend, but I've known him since I was 11, and a further 11 years since must count for something. The same goes for other friends from home. At the end of the day I think the University versus Home friends thing is a false dichotomy. Friendships aren't about geography. It doesn't matter how, or where, or when you know someone. What really matters is why you know them.

"Just like London town"

Day's where I have to get up at 6:30am rarely go well. There's something about the lack of good mood that invariably greets me in the morning on such occasions that just seems to carry on through the whole day. But fortunately today turned out to be something of an exception.

After dragging myself out of bed and making myself look as presentable as I can with the materials I have to work with, I walked the 35 minute journey to the train station, baulked at having to pay £39 for a peak-day travelcard, before remembering that I was being reimbursed, and boarded a train to London. One hour later I arrived into King's Cross and walked to Chancery Lane. There can be few other places in London whose mention evokes an emotional response in lawyers on the same level that Chancery Lane does. Which is a bit odd as it's actually quite a pokey street in a perpetual state of building works. It's a bit like there being no Muffin Man shop on Drury Lane (seriously; why hasn't anyone done that?). But nonetheless, today I had an interview on Chancery Lane for a (legal) job for next year. I should find out how it went in two or three weeks, or rather, my Dad will, as all my post seems to be going home at the moment, so that'll be a fun phone call for him to have to make.

After it was over I took the opportunity to make the most of the not-my £39 and traipse around London for the rest of the day. I've lost track of where I actually walked, but the blister on my left foot, and the wearing through of the sock on my right testify that I covered a few miles at least. I eventually ended up at St. Paul's and crossed over the now not wobbly bridge to the Southbank. I was trying to think of what image sprung to mind when I thought of 'London', when I noticed a small gathering of about 50 people looking into the area where the skateboarders usually skate. Sneaking a closer look I saw the back of a music band being filmed by the BBC for a new programme called 'Sound'. Upon moving up the queue I realised thatwho they were:


The Feeling were in town, and fittingly enough, they were singing 'Just like London town'. Or rather, they were singing it over and over so the BBC could get their shots in. If anything it was surprising how few people there were watching. I don't really follow music, but judging by how often the song is played on the radio they seem to be quite a big thing, and so many people were just walking by. Apparently the show will be on the TV on Saturday, so tune in and see if you can spot me being told off by the producer for not turning my flash off.


Afterwards I trotted onwards along the Southbank past a proper image of London in the London Eye, and over the bridge to Parliament Square as there was something I wanted to see.


I've been reading quite a bit about Oliver Cromwell recently for one of my courses this year, and I just can't quire figure him out, and nor it seems can quite a few people. Many people abhor him. His actions in Ireland and Scotland were inexcusable. Some see him as a fascist despot, but the more I read, the more I see a man who, despite going against everything in British constitutionalism, was committed, in England at least, to achieving 'right' for the nation after the mess of Charles I, and who was crestfallen when he didn't succeed in his ideal. Surely a despot would have seized the Crown when it was offered to him? But of course, my perspective is entirely from the view of legal history and I don't seek to condone. Socially or politically the picture could be, and probably is, very different indeed. His legacy is hard to determine, shortly after he died the Monarchy was reinstated and he was posthumously executed (his head is now buried at Sidney Sussex after being separated from his body 300 odd years ago). It's perhaps ironic that his anti-monarchist approach has led to the strong passive Monarch that we enjoy today. But however history judges him, it's interesting to note that his statue stands inside the grounds of the Palace of Westminster itself, while notably others are consigned to the square opposite.

That's probably the image I have in my head when I think of 'London' - the home of so much that I associate with being British. London is history.

I was walking on the grass one day

Or rather, she was. It's one of the hallowed rules here that we're forbidden from walking on the courtyard's grass - there are polite, yet firm, signs reminding us at practically every turn. But every so often, the rules are relaxed and people can indulge the pent up desire to trample across the lawn.


Admittedly, getting married in the College chapel is probably quite an extreme way of getting around the general prohibition, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. And being able to walk across the grass gave them all a useful shortcut to shelter when, unfortunately, it proceeded to rain about two minutes after I snapped the photos.

I think I'll just have to wait until graduation to get my dose of stomping in.

A Gran(d) Visit

Before the curtain came down on my penultimate term at University, my parents and my Gran came up to visit Cambridge for a couple of nights. Gran had never been before so it was a nice opportunity to show her where I've been living over the past three-years and to do the tourist-thing that you never do yourself when you live in a place.


A late arrival and a long journey here (via Chester and Stratford-Upon-Avon) meant the first night consisted of a (very nice) meal before retiring. We decided that early the next morning we'd do the one thing that you can't come to Cambridge without doing: Punting.


So at 10am the following day we found ourselves manning what turned out to be the only punt on the river - which given my (lack) of punting skills was probably for the best. Of course, everyone else might have been staying away due to the fact that the water was freezing, but we punted on regardless. It took just over an hour to punt from Darwin College, past Queens and St. Catherine's, Kings, Clare, Trinity Hall, Trinity, St John's to Magdalene before turning around. It's lovely how peaceful the river is at that time in the morning and it's a great way to see the colleges from positions that you wouldn't otherwise get to see. Fortunately no-one fell in, and nor did we lose the pole. By the time we were done the wind and water had conspired to make my hands numb and blue, and, intriguingly, my fingers were about twice their usual size.

Luckily, Selwyn is only about a five minute walk from the river, so a quick trip back allowed me to warm up and for Gran to have a look around the college.



It's exceptionally easy to take your surroundings for granted, so it's always nice to show someone around who hasn't seen them before to really appreciate them. With the flowers beginning to bloom the gardens looked beautiful, and with most people having gone home for Easter, the college itself was peaceful and still.

After a spot of lunch we headed for a walk around a few of the in town colleges. This is where the little blue student card comes in very useful. Not all of the colleges charge non-members for entry, but invariably the ones that people want to visit, do. I'm sure there's a business opportunity in renting out my Uni card to visitors for a day. We walked through Kings, popped into Corpus Christi before heading to Trinity and walking through St. Johns to Magdalene, finally having a look at Sidney Sussex. Magdalene's gardens were especially pretty alongside the river.


By the time we'd done all that, the sun was going down and that was the end of another day. Unfortunately we only had the morning of the next day before we had to set off home, but it was enough time to climb the spire of Greater St. Mary's church in the centre of town - something that I've never done, and indeed, didn't even know you could do. A bit like punting, it was interesting to see a bit of Cambridge from a vertically-different perspective, even if the market did look like something from the Magic Roundabout from up-high.


As with too-many things, it was a shame that we couldn't have stayed for longer. It was lovely that Gran got to see Cambridge before I leave, but beyond that, I felt like I got to see it a bit too. I don't take the time to visit the College's or to stop and look at the view and I'm always too busy trying to get somewhere or do something else instead. It's a bit like 'the grass is always greener' and the place you live never seems that remarkable. But I know that in three months when I leave for good I'll immediately regret not making more of my time here, so before that time comes I've resolved to take the time to properly visit each College and to walk down all of those streets that until now I've just walked past. After all, treading off the beaten path can often be the most rewarding way to really see a place.

Va Va Varsity

My last two posts have all had a smattering of karting content, so my apologies for those who find all this petrolheaded talk a little tedious and unintelligible, but today I intend to continue the trend and recount the experience of yesterday's Varsity Kart Race.

Unfortunately, it was one of those "this'll sort the men from the boys" type events, where I ended up resolutely in the boys camp. Having only really taken up karting last year, and having only driven the Pro karts twice, the step up to yesterday's Club 100 karts was going to be a shock, but I didn't bank on it being quite such a shock. Firstly, they can do 0-60mph in about 4.5 seconds. Second, they have a top speed of about 65mph. And thirdly, they're clutchless, so they need to be bump started, and if you brake too hard, spin, or go too slowly, they stall and need to be bump started again. On my first lap out of the pits in practice I spun about 4 times, so it took about 5 minutes to do one 45 second lap, my distinctive red helmet didn't do anything to lessen my visibility.


Fortunately I eventually got the hang of it (just about) prior to the race. Unfortunately, one the first lap the engine refused to fire up, leading to the rather embarrassing situation of my kart being pushed around the track by a pusher kart trying to kick some life into it. It didn't work, and I had to swap into another 'cold' kart. Starting 8th, I made it to the first hairpin in roughly the same position before being hit and spinning out, needing a bump start. This entails dragging your kart back onto the track and waiting for the pusher kart, by which point, we were last, and there we would stay.




I can though claim that this was not entirely my fault. Early in the stint I realised that something was wrong when the car seemed to 'top out' along the back straight. In the practice the thing just seemed to keep on accelerating, but now it wasn't. Having already changed kart once and not knowing if it was something I was doing wrong, I plodded on while all streamed past me. But even with what turned out to the automotive equivalent of a blocked-artery it was a pretty nerve racking and bone shaking experience. But one I can't wait to have again.

My teammate Graeme subsequently went out, and came back in right away to get another kart, and managed to salvage things - we finished second-last, some way off of the podium, with Oxford retaining their title.


Needless to stay, I've got this bug, and I don't think it's going anywhere.

From RAGs to Riches (of a sort)

Today's been one of those eclectic days where everything was planned in advance, yet altogether everything that went on doesn't really fit into one whole.

It started as with many others, in the library, but fortunately that didn't last terribly long. Today is the start of RAG week here. RAG are a student body who organise different events to raise money for charity, and today was RAG Carnival day. I needed to do some shopping for 'Dutch Dinner Do' that I've perhaps unwisely agreed to do tomorrow night, so it seemed a good way to combine the two.




The parade started at the Grafton Centre and made its way to the Drummer Street bus station, which didn't really seem that far, and a little out of the way for something that's supposed to be quite high profile. But a lot of the people had clearly made an effort with their costumes, and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves.


It was certainly colourful, and provided a nice diversion while buying my 'British Fenland Kale' from a Dutch market stall - who says globalisation doesn't work? But RAG today wasn't just a parade, they also organised a rubber duck race on the Cam. For some reason, this really caught my imagination. I had visions of them flinging bucket loads of rubber ducks from Magdelene Bridge and people shouting their ducks on from Quayside. Unfortunately it wasn't quite like that, and instead they offloaded them from a punt in bin liners. In fact, if you look closely, you can see one bin liner that got away before it was emptied leaving a bin liner for of ducks in line for victory for quite a while.



Fortunately, the bin liner didn't win, and neither did mine or Amy's duck. The Cam's probably not the best place for such racing, as it's a pretty gently flowing river, and for quite a lot of the time they just bobbed along in a very uncompetitive unison, but eventually one duck broke free of the others and was hoisted onto the waiting punt to be proclaimed the winner. Apparently all who entered do get their duck to keep. So I shall look forward to being presented with my bright yellow/green/blue/pink duck at some point in the future once they've all been fished out.

This evening though I was presented with something of an all together different kind at the Cambridge University Automobile Club annual dinner at Downing. After a half-hour battle in front of the mirror with my bow tie, and despite some interesting service and a menu that didn't always reflect what we found on our plates, it was a really good evening, and it was nice to get to know the people who I've been racing against a little better while we didn't all have helmets on. I'd been told in advance that I was going to get an award, and I had a sneaking suspicion what it might have been for. But at the end of the meal I was presented with the CUAC award for 'Best Crash', or as I prefer 'Best Example of Driving Beyond One's Capabilities', or as it actually says on the trophy 'East Essex Pony Club Brew Cup for the Best Tetrathalon Performance'.


No-one was quite sure where the trophy came from, but I think it's great, and it has taken pride of place on my mantelpiece. Maybe I'm an equestrian extraordinaire just waiting to be discovered. I'm planning on writing a little piece on the crash so that they can start building up a catalogue of idiotic driving to pass down the generations. For a Society that's over 100 years old, it could be some list.

The Three R's

Late last term saw the second-round of the University Karting Championship at the Rye House circuit. Then was the first time that I'd been the circuit, and the first time I'd driven what I now know to be a 'Pro Kart'. As such I was pretty chuffed to have come sixth in the team endurance.

Today it was time to 'Return to Racing at Rye House'; three R's that are much more exciting than whatever they're supposed to mean in Government-speak. We've just got back from the third-round at the same circuit and in the same karts, and second-time around it was even more of a blast, even if it did take about 15 minutes for the blood to return to the extremities of my fingers after I'd finished my stint.

There's not really any way to recount a kart race on a blog in a way that's going to be interesting to people reading. So I'll restrict myself to saying that having qualified 7th as a team, I'd got up to 4th by the first corner, before falling back to 6th in the second. It's amazing how exhilarating a standing-start can be. 10 karts, all only a metre behind the one in front, accelerating away into a sweeping right hander is guaranteed to raise a smile. Sixth was fine, but I got into a two lap-long battle with a guy from Churchill college, which resulted in me getting a warning, before he punted me off on the fastest part of the circuit. Not that I've a problem with that, it was close racing and I could have just as easily done the same to him. Unfortunately I didn't have to time to lift off before I hit the grass, so pirouetted twice before rejoining the track, only to be penalised for driving off the grass. Such is life. This left us last and chasing the whole pack, but by the end of my 43 laps I'd got us back up to fifth, and on my penultimate lap I finally managed to break into the 43 second boundary having done solid 44 seconds lap all the way. I managed a 43:83, which was only 00:20 slower than our team's best lap. So chuffed with that!

After that Will took over for another 25 laps before Roy took us the rest of the way with his 57. He managed to get us to fourth as well, so only one away from that first podium. Can't be that far away.

Racing in the dark is extremely atmospheric, but bitterly cold, especially when you're grasping the wheel for dear life and your knuckles are in the wind protected only by millimetre thick gloves. But it's all part of the experience. But boy, did I look rough once I'd finished my stint. It's surprising just how demanding 30 minutes of racing appears to be! But I'm never going to get tired of that last sweeping right hander; it's worth the asking price alone.






Come the end of the evening I was being cajoled into taking part in next week's Varsity race at the same circuit, but on the next karts up, 'Club 100'. Seeing how I still find these one's a bit of a handful, I'm not sure. But although they're a handful, they're tremendous fun, and I'm not actually sure I can pass up the chance to drive something even faster seeing how much I'm enjoying al this. Watch this space.

Blasts from the Past

It's not often that reading a Law Report produces the kind of 'wow' feeling that makes you stop what you're doing. Last night, after getting back from working at one of the Careers Service events, I was reading the case of Re Hallet's Estate from 1879 in a law report actually printed in said year. It's always quite satisfying pulling a 130 year old book off the shelves, and you usually end up covered in dust, but this case was a little special and was rather like a legal message in a bottle. Someone had carefully annotated it in the margin with a list of citations for subsequent cases that considered it.


Of course, today you can just look on the internet to find out such information, but in 1919 (the most recent date in the old-handwriting) you couldn't do that, so this person had apparently taken on the task of writing it into the law report to save others the trouble of doing the research. Of course, it's a bit naughty to write in such an old book, although it would only have been 50 years old when they did it. But today it struck me as a great insight into an older world, and got me visualising Dickensian visions of legal studies. The handwriting was scholarly, and so regular and neat that I thought it was typed at first. It certainly makes a change to today's scrawled and barely legible annotations, the sort that I peddle. In fact, back in 1919 it was probably quite a heinous thing to do. I can't help but be intrigued by who it was, and the fact that we'll never know somehow makes it all the more interesting.

Unfortunately I rather deadened my appreciation of finding the book when I proceeded to walk into a door after leaving the library. College has taken the rather dubious step of fixing 'controlling' mechanisms (like posh versions of those 'arms' that stop doors slamming) to each of the outside doors, presumably so that they can be opened and closed from afar. This unfortunately means that doors now open and close very slowly, even when pushed very hard. I forgot this, and while walking apace, put my hand up to open the door, and before I realised that my hand was remaining stationary against the door while my body was rapidly approaching it, my nose had connected with the glass panel, leading to a presumable comical rebound. What's this 'progress'?

In search of a conclusion

For a student of the arts, I have a worrying, and often unrealised, fondness for 'yes' or 'no' answers. Unfortunately, legal questions rarely come in digital and we're left hanging and have to make do with "if this, then this, but if this, then this" answers. Occasionally, but only occasionally, I'm known to crave a bit of trigonometry.

And that's very frustrating, and I guess that's why I'm not all that interested in pursuing a career as a lawyer. I'd much rather sit in a library and try to make the law come to nice 'yes' or 'no' answers, so the world cane be a happier and better place. But it seems that that's just how it is for me in real life too. I've noticed recently that increasing I try to finish every conversation with a concluding remark. It was quite funny at first, but now it's started to annoy me (and probably the people I speak to as well), mainly because I often can't think of something suitable. So instead of finishing naturally, these thing tend to have two or more abortive endings in search of a departing comment, before stuttering and tailing off most unsatisfactorily instead.

It's probably related to my desire to have things planned out months in advance. For instance, after my internship in Washington DC this summer, I'm going to have about three weeks free to spend in North America. Now, this isn't for another 6 months, and I can't figure things out definitively for a while yet, but it doesn't stop me trying to plan out all the different possibilities. It would be much easier if I just decided to believe in fate.

I wonder if that's a product of the unilateral nature of writing a textual blog? After all, writing is much more discrete than conversation and actions, and I can finish a conversation with myself anyway I want. See?

A Flying Visit

There are two things in this world that I will never tire of; (a) the feeling of acceleration when a plane takes off, and (b) stroopwaffles. As a result, flying to Holland this weekend proved a perfect way to get a fix of both, and I'm still enjoying the latter while cleaning the crumbs out of my keyboard.

Last year I made a promise after winning the Dutch round of the Jessup competition that I'd come back the following year to hand over the winning-cup to this year's victors. And being a man of my word, that's exactly what I did. So after spending Friday afternoon in London being briefed on my Summer-scheme to be, I boarded a train to Stansted for a journey that ended up taking considerably longer than it should have done. All the time wearing a suit, my plane was delayed for an hour-and-a-half (it left Edinburgh for Stansted after it was supposed to leave Stansted. My train from Schipol to Den Haag then broke down at Leiden. All of this wouldn't have been too bad had it not been for the facts that it freezing and raining, and my hostel closed at 1am. Fortunately I got there at 12:30am, so all was good. but getting up at 7am the next morning for the competition was less good.

The competition was fun, but unfortunately the Utrecht team didn't win this year, although they did make it to the final round and split the judges 2-1. So this year the Netherlands will be represented by Leiden, who amazingly had a guy who I know from my Jones Day vacation scheme on their team. It never ceases to amaze me just how small this world of ours is.

It was great to see people again; Emma, Bart, Lobke, Ellie, Rachel and Sabs, to name a few and I'm thankful to them all for making me feel so welcome. But it was really heartening to see how it didn't feel strange being back, walking down the Oudegracht felt quite normal - just like going home to Cornwall does in the holidays. In fact, the strangest thing was how it didn't feel at all strange. I guess I expected that more would have changed, but there's no reason for it to have done as it's only been 7 months since I lived there. More odd was knowing that so many of the people I spent last year with have moved on, or back to where they came from. Andrew wrote a fantastic essay for the Erasmus essay competition which sadly and unfathomably wasn't appreciated by the competition judges, but I think he summed up this feeling perfectly, and I hope he doesn't mind me quoting a little here:

[Our accommodation was a] blank page which I realize, we entirely filled out and erase in our departure. The glad, cheery heat of a family which left with the last of us, leaving - only to be renewed by other faces. If we return, it is as an intruder: a true stranger out of history - without his family - who are flown across the surface of the earth. You wound yourself by your disappointment when you rediscover the place unyours.

It's hard to disagree. Utrecht is the same, but it's not mine, or ours, any more. A new generation of people have taken over and made the city their own. Graf Floris isn't my hang out any more. Going back to Jessup really brought this home. While it was lovely seeing the new team and seeing them moot (and not having to do it myself!) nothing could be a clearer indication of how things have moved on there, and I suppose that I must too.

But really, I have one request to Easyjet. The train company First Great Western puts on special trains from London to Newquay in the Summer, presumably because the general crowd going to Newquay would make a 6 hour train journey rather unbearable for people going elsewhere. This is a fantastic idea. You can always tell which flight is the Amsterdam flight at Stansted; it's the one with all the British stag/hen party entourages crowding the boarding gate before boarding has started (invariably with the wrong boarding card) and generally hollering to each other. Why not have special stag/hen flights? Even I'd pay to put them on one!

A Wintery Return to Meribel

When you've got a dodgy knee that hurts just a bit, what would any sensible person do? Why, get in a cramped car and drive for 15 hours overnight to the French Alps for a bit of skiing of course. Why not?



Yes, those are snow chains. Last week; Jon, Will, Nick and I did just this on an epic journey to Meribel-Mottaret, the same place that Sacha, Lottie, Jon, Colin and I went too this Summer for our Alpine ambling.

It's funny how much difference snow makes to the feel of the place, it covers up all of the features of the landscape, and because you're skiing much faster than you could walk it makes everywhere feel a lot closer - almost depressingly so when we remembered how long it had taken us to walk to places this Summer. But Winter or Summer, it's a beautiful place and one that I don't think I'll ever tire of.




But it was such a fun week, and I don't think I've laughed so hard in a very long time. Doing this sort of thing as a small group may be more expensive than going on the University trip, but in my albeit limited experience I'd much prefer to do it this way if the opportunity arises again. You get to know the people you're living and travelling with a lot better than you would do otherwise, and I think that makes the trip much more enjoyable. Aside from a dodgy fondue incident I think we managed to get through the week without too much infighting!

The resort itself was fantastic. Meribel is right in the middle of the Trois-Vallees, one of the biggest skiing areas and we never ran out of places to ski in the week we were there. Our apartment was fine, right opposite the ski lockers and pretty much directly onto the slopes. So we couldn't have asked for much more there. We were all about the same level, and hopefully I didn't hold the others up too much, but there were the occassional hilarious moments where we lost it in often spectacular fashions. Memorable falls include my slamming into a wall of snow on a green run and leaving such a good imprint that you could make out my goggles, nose, mouth, hands and knees (it was still there two days later), Jon's fall on a blue which caused Nick to fall in avoidance, whereupon I was laughing so hard that I couldn't help but do the same, Jon's close encounter with a snowboarder under a 'Slow' sign, Nick falling off a drag lift and having to climb up to the top of the lift in foot deep powder, and my slide down a red which resulted in my jacket and trousers getting packed with snow.



But the funniest has to go to Jon and Will's impressive mask efforts which got them no end of odd looks on our way down the slopes - especially Will who I was a little concerned could have been mistaken for a skiing Hitler. It's funny just how hard uncontrollable laughing makes skiing, and how Jon skied while only seeing through the end of his snout will forever remain a question in need of an answer.


So it's all been a bit of a culture shock waking up one morning in France, then going to bed the same evening in my room at Uni - there aren't any ski slopes around here y'see. What's in store for the next trip? Well, flying to Orlando in Florida, buying a car and driving to Anchorage in Alaska was talked about... watch this space.

Don't I know you?

Events have got me doing quite a bit of thinking these past 24 hours.

Today I was visiting my aunt in the shop where she works, when someone who was my closest friend, my companion for two-years, walked past the window. I shamefully looked away. But the worst thing is that I know why.

Last night a group of us went out for dinner for Bryony's birthday/my birthday/Christmas/New Year and a good friend of mine from secondary school, someone who helped make it all a little more bearable and who I haven't seen in four-years, came along. And it was just like 'old times' with all of us. And again, I know why.

But what I can't figure out, no matter how hard I try, is why the people who we're closest to and care the most about, are the very people we don't stay in touch with when thing's go awry, no matter how much we might want to, and are the very people we're most awkward and uncomfortable around when our paths cross again, even years in the future.

And now I've sat here for 30 minutes wondering why I've written this entry, whether it's an attempt at some sort of redemption, while hovering over the 'publish post' button wondering whether I should push it.

A Birthday Casualty

A year ago I almost ended up spending my 21st birthday in Asterdam's Schipol airport after England rather inconveniently fog bound itself. Fast forward a year and I find myself having spent a portion of my 22nd birthday in the Casualty department of the local hospital.

The receptionist didn't seem to pick up on the significance of the occasion when she asked for my birthdate, and I replied "Today, but 22 years ago". Fortunately the nurse did and wished me a 'Happy Birthday' while bending my knee in all sorts of improbable directions. Unfortunately the end diagnosis was about as ambiguous as the reasons for me being there in the first place. After waking up in the middle of the night on Wednesday with a rather acute pain in my left knee, I woke up on Thursday morning unable to bend said knee. A whole day with a hot cushion on my knee made little difference, and walking on it, or bending it, produced a sensation which felt like what I would imagine stabbing the back of my knee cap with a hot knife would feel like. Unfortunately yesterday brought no improvement, and neither did this morning, so I had to concede defeat and follow my parents' advice to go to Casualty. Apparently I may have (a) a bit of cartilage/bone 'free floating' behind my knee cap, (b) a torn something, or (c) a random imflamation. I'm holding out for the latter, although a bit of keyhole surgery for the former would certainly be exciting.

Unfortunately the upshot of this was that I was ordered to rest and not put weight on my knee, which put paid to my plans to go ice-skating, karting or walking today, and instead meant I've had a rather quiet birthday at home - although I'm now suffering Strictly Come Dancing. Hopefully, after Schipol last year, and West Cornwall Hospital this year, it won't end up being Guantanamo Bay next year.

Thanks to everyone who's sent their birthday wishes today; it's been lovely to get them :).

School's Out for Winter

It's that time of year again. It hardly seems possible that a little over two months ago I started my final Michaelmas term, but true it is. Last night was Selwyn's SnowBall and this weekend almost everyone packs up to return to their other homes for Christmas. But not me. I'm staying around for another two weeks. The upshot of this is a very quiet College, the downside; the lack of people. Coming down the stairs earlier today I noticed a rather sad sight - everyone apart from me being marked as 'OUT'.


Obviously there was a party and I just wasn't invited, but at least it should mean that I get some work done these next two weeks - provided all the conference attendees and interview candidates don't prove too distracting. Which I imagine they will.

Last night though was the SnowBall and jolly good fun it was too.


This year with people who graduated last year coming back for it, and it being the last one while I'm still here, I had a change of heart and decided to go along. And I'm glad that I did. It's not a May Ball, but it's not meant to be either. There's something much more personal about the SnowBall, but having said that, the use of a strict one-way system meant that I actually saw shamefully few people to talk to properly. The only other one that I've been too in 2004 didn't really capture anyone's imagination and I'd been in no hurry to go back, but 2007 was certainly a much better affair. It's nice to be able to 'go out' with a better Ball.

It's just not Christmas

But you'd be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Today is the 18th November, a full 37 days before Christmas day (admittedly less if we use the more commercially popular measure of shopping days), but that hasn't stopped today being the chosen day for Cambridge's Christmas Lights Official Switch On Ceremony. Oh yes, apparently they've even gone and got someone from Neighbours in to flick the switch. Unfortunately, in the three years that I've been here I've never actually been to the switch on ceremony, and I didn't go today either, partly because it's belting down with rain and blowing a hooley, making my room a much more preferable place to be. However, I did venture into town this afternoon to do some shopping so I got a little taste of the Christmas spirit. There's was a stage outside the Guildhall on the market square which had an audience of about 50 cold-people being sprinkled with some fake snow. There was also a rather amusing pair of performers walking around to amuse the children, and big children like me.


Unfortunately I'm feeling a little 'bah humbug' about all of this. Perhaps it's partly to do with being at University while it's all going on, but I mean, it's still the middle of November. Yes, it's getting colder and the nights are drawing in, and it is starting to feel like winter, but it's not starting to feel like Christmas. I guess I'm partly comparing it to the Sinterklaas ceremony in Utrecht last year as well, which was miles ahead of what went on today. People just aren't in the Christmas mood at the moment, and won't be until at least December. I'm sure that if the lights went on in December, no-one would complain that it was too late, and people would be much more into the spirit of things at the time. I just feel sorry for the parents who have to tide their children over until the real Christmas.

Last night though was an altogether different affair with the annual Law Ball. It's the first time that I've been to one and hence I had no idea of what to expect. I've got a rather love-hate relationship with Balls. The SnowBall in the first-year put me off the very idea for quite a while, Sidney May Ball in the second-year was good but nothing that special, while Downing May Ball last year was a really lovely evening. So I shacked up with the other Selwyn lawyers for a 'night of sin' that was really anything but sinful. Personally I just wanted the opportunity to wear a tuxedo for the first time this term and spend 40 minutes cursing in front of my mirror trying to tie up my bowtie.


It was a nice evening, but I think I'm going to have to (a) learn to dance, and (b) drink alcohol to really appreciate such things. But more than anything it's about the people you go with, and that's something that I really learned to appreciate last year when I was travelling around. You can do something on your own and hate it, then do it with others, and love it. People can make the world of difference.